


Winter Lies Too Long

by Chichirinoda



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a set-up all along. </p><p>Leonard Snart is attacked and his cold gun stolen, but when he locates it, he finds a laboratory where a kidnapped Barry Allen is being studied. He can't very well just leave him there, can he? But once he brings Barry home, neither of them really want him to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amber_Flicker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Flicker/gifts).



> The first of two Coldflash gift fics I'm giving out as a prize for successfully guessing the name of the villain of my story, _A Week On Rogue's Mountain_. I hope you enjoy it!

It was possible that in the time since Captain Cold had acquired the cold gun, he had become a little more reckless than he was willing to admit. 

The tip for this heist had come through a reputable source - Ronaldo, a jewellery dealer he had been working with for years to fence his ill-gotten gains of the sparkly and precious variety. The dealer had heard of an incoming shipment of rare South African blue diamonds, which were being held at a warehouse in Central City for a single night before they were to be moved on to the buyer in Starling City in the morning. Apparently the diamonds were being shipped so quickly that they expected no one would have time to make an attempt to steal them enroute, but there was this narrow window that had arisen because of a minor customs fuck-up. Len’s fence had offered him the tip in exchange for a commitment to sell the stolen goods through him if he took the job.

Normally, Len would have cased the place for a while before making an attempt on something like this, but the timeframe made that impossible. He was familiar with the shipping company already and knew the warehouse in question, so it seemed like an easy job. Quick smash and grab, not even bothering to worry about alarms. Guards could be dealt with by waving the cold and heat guns around, and he already knew the CCPD response time to this area. Even better, the Flash hadn’t been seen in town for a few weeks. Word on the street was that he was off in Starling City, helping out the Green Arrow.

Easy peasy.

Or…not so easy peasy, as it turned out.

He, Mick, and Lisa had piled into a car stolen from from a long-term parking lot across town and adorned with plates from a different car, taken from a residential address. The plates wouldn’t be missed at least until the next morning, and the car itself probably wouldn’t be noticed until whoever had parked it there came back from their trip. 

They had driven to the warehouse and parked around the corner, checked their guns and headed on foot to the back door of the warehouse. Len had taken care of the lock with a quick freezing of the door, and Mick had shattered the frozen metal with a single kick. With the deadbolt broken, they were inside, fanning out quickly to take cover behind nearby crates, with guns at the ready to deal with any security guards that wanted to get cute.

But here they were now, and there was no sign of guards. After a few moments of listening, Lisa returned to the door and checked the security box. “Alarm’s out,” she hissed. “Power failure.”

“Huh. Convenient,” Len said. He touched the ring on his pinkie absently, but they were here. Security was supposed to be lax, and it was possible that they had just gotten lucky. Maybe no one had heard them come through the door because they were distracted with the power outage.

“Let’s split up, find the diamonds,” he ordered softly. “Lisa, you go back outside and keep a lookout.”

“What?” Lisa pouted. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Len told her. “If this is some kind of ambush, then we can’t be caught with our pants down.” 

She nodded, tossing her hair a little in annoyance, but fully professional after that one little outburst. Len couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have wanted to get relegated to lookout duty, either, but Mick was way too distractable and unpredictable to do it, and Len was in charge. So the little sis had to do the crappy job. That was just how it was.

He waited until she’d disappeared out the door and was in position, then glanced at Mick and made a couple of hand signals. They’d each go a different direction to cover more ground, meet in the middle. 

With a nod to acknowledge Len’s strategy, Mick turned to the right and began to hurry between the stacks of crates and boxes, while Len turned to the left and moved quickly. They just needed to find the safe, and then he could crack it and they could get out of there.

Assuming that nothing went wrong. Which, of course, it did.

Len turned down the last aisle, at the far end of the warehouse from the door, and began to work his way towards the middle, gun up and scanning each row before heading to the next one. There was no sign of guards, and no sign of any kind of an alarm. If a silent alarm had tripped, he knew he had at least 380 seconds from the time they had entered to get out again before the CCPD could respond, but that was less time than it might sound.

His only warning that he wasn’t alone was a soft scuffing sound from above. 

He dove to the right, raising his gun to fire, even though his mind suggested that, just maybe, all it was was an errant feline or a rat.

It was not a rat. It was a man, plummeting down from above, right on top of Len.

The cold gun fired, and ricocheted off of a shiny sort of shield that materialized in front of the metahuman at the last moment. Len narrowly avoided being turned into a popsicle himself, as the jet of cold splashed onto the concrete right beside him.

Then the metahuman crashed into him, and they both went down, skidding on the ice, with the weight of the man on top of Len. The metahuman slammed his fist into Len’s face, and his head cracked hard onto the pavement. And that was the last thing Len knew for a while.

* * *

Len woke to strong arms wrapped around him, and the sound of approaching sirens. His head pounded and he was being jolted around uncomfortably.

He cracked open his eyes and saw Mick’s chin above him. A quick look around revealed that they were outside of the warehouse, and Mick was carrying him in a bridal carry, at a flat-out run. Lisa was right beside him, looking grim.

“What happened?” Len asked, befuddled by the blow to the head. 

“Job was a bust, buddy,” Mick growled. 

“Lenny, are you okay?” Lisa exclaimed, peering at him with distress even as they ran.

“Not sure yet, sis,” Len said. Then he realized something, and he looked around again, feeling at his empty thigh holster. “Wait— Mick, wait. My gun. Where is it?”

“Gone.”

“And the diamonds?”

“No diamonds in the whole damn place. It was a goddamn fucking setup.”

Len fell silent, fuming. A setup, to get his cold gun? 

Mick stuffed him in the back seat, his hands rough, but somehow gentle as he made sure Len was in the car and lying comfortably across the back seat before slamming the door closed and getting into the driver’s seat. Lisa hopped into the passenger seat and they pealed away, vanishing into a cross street only seconds before the CCPD converged on the warehouse.

Len lay on the seat, wincing as his head throbbed with each bump, but the pain was already subsiding - subsumed by a cold anger. “I’ve got to have a word with our friend Ronaldo.”

Mick glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a fierce grin. “If he had anything to do with this, he’s gonna _burn_.”

Len nodded. “I expect he will.”

* * *

Ronaldo didn’t know much. He sobbed like a little girl when Mick jammed his gun against the man’s right hand and threatened to burn it off, and was gratifyingly eager to give up everything he _did_ know - the source of the tip, the reasons he’d thought it was legit, and a fountain of apologies for giving bad information. Len grudgingly spared his life, and his hand, and then took Mick on to the source of Ronaldo’s information.

This one was more fruitful, and Mick got to burn things, and the CCPD’s arson unit later ruled it an electrical fire, which was a bonus.

In the end, it took only the course of a single afternoon to track down Len’s cold gun, and it was in a place he wouldn’t have expected - Mercury Labs.

“Maybe it’s industrial espionage,” Mark Mardon suggested doubtfully, as they got ready to hit the place. “Didn’t you get that thing from STAR Labs?”

“Doubt it.”

Len wasn’t willing to wait and case the place, even though he knew he was running another risk so soon after the last bad job. He needed his gun back. So instead of meticulously planning every detail, he brought in the big guns and decided to hit it with everything he had. 

Roy Bivolo, Mark Mardon, and Kyle Nimbus all entered the office tower housing Mercury Labs at his, Mick’s, and Lisa’s back. 

Hartley Rathaway waited in the van, hacking the system from a laptop hooked into the main external network line to shut down the lights and security cameras. 

Shawna Baez remained in the van as a backup, to teleport in and get them the hell out of there if things went south.

Hail pelted the building as they entered, breaking windows and causing chaos on the upper floors. The Rogues breached the building like a SWAT team, dressed in black, wearing night-vision lenses, and armed with the equivalent of nuclear weapons compared to the guns the security guards had. 

Len now knew that Cisco Ramon had developed a way of tracking the cold gun using its thermal signature. Earlier that day, while they tracked down leads, Len had had Hartley steal the software from STAR Labs’ mainframe. Now, he followed Hartley’s directions over their communicators, down into a secret sub-basement with a special code key required to access it. Len rewired the access pad while Roy made every person they encountered start frantically attacking one another.

On the sub-basement level, they exited the elevator to find the metahuman who had attacked Len standing in their way, cracking his knuckles and ready for a fight. He was big, nearly as big as Mick, and didn’t bother carrying a weapon. It turned out that the metahuman who had attacked Len was able to deflect any and all attacks from their weapons, even when taken by surprise, but Kyle Nimbus left him dead on the floor in seconds.

From there, they moved down the hallway to a laboratory. They had to pass through some kind of airlock to get through. The place had to be on a separate power grid, because it was completely lit up, and the people inside didn’t seem aware that anything untoward was going on.

It was in there that Len found his cold gun. 

He also found Barry Allen. 

The Flash wasn’t in costume, no mask or lightning-bolt symbol in sight. He was bound to an operating table, semi-conscious with an IV drip running into his arm. He was also completely naked, except for a pair of white briefs. It looked cold, and not in a good way.

Two people - a man and a woman - in lab coats were standing over him, partially blocking him from view. The woman was leaning over Barry with something in her hand, while the man made notes onto a tablet. The cold gun sat on a table near the woman.

“The subject— Hey, you can’t be in here!” said the man as he turned to look at them, nearly dropping his tablet in surprise. “We’re doing some very delicate work here.”

The woman whirled around as well, eyes widening over her surgical mask. She held a scalpel in her gloved hand, and it, and her hand, were spattered with red. “Get out! This is a clean surgical area!”

“Just here to get my things,” Len drawled, striding forward. He grabbed up his gun, turned around and shot the woman in the head. Then he shot the man.

Then he looked at Barry. The kid’s torso was blackened, a ring of frost around the place where he’d been shot, right in the stomach. In the very centre of the spot was a long shallow cut from the scalpel. It looked as though they had been preparing to remove pieces of the frozen skin. It also wasn’t the only cut on his body. Shallow cuts all over his torso oozed blood sluggishly.

The sight turned his stomach.

“Mick,” he snapped, pointing at the young man. “Bring him.”

Mick gave him a confused look, but stepped obediently towards the operating table. The other Rogues poked around the room, though Mark moved to assist Heatwave in undoing the tight straps that held Barry’s arms and legs immobilized. Len watched closely, his hands white-knuckled around the cold gun’s handle and barrel. 

“Do you know him?” Mark asked curiously, undoing the last strap. “Why’re we bringing him along?”

Barry’s eyes opened sluggishly - was he drugged or just in shock? Len couldn’t tell - and he took one look at Mark and Mick leaning over him before shrinking away with a terrified yell. 

Damnit, the Flash wasn’t thinking straight. He was going to wind up outing _himself_ at this rate, and telling half the Rogues who he really was. Len stepped closer, shouldering Mark out of the way and leaned over Barry. “Shush,” he said, putting his hand over Barry’s mouth. Barry met his gaze, eyes wide with terror. “It’s over, kid,” Len murmured. “I’m getting you out of here. Now, you don’t say a word until I tell you, understand?”

Barry nodded jerkily, still trembling with fear, and Len removed his hand. Mick scooped him up, cradling him against his chest, and they all moved out.

“We taking him to a hospital, buddy?” Mick asked in a low voice. “Or what?” Barry had passed out again, probably from the pain of being moved, and he lay limp in Mick’s arms, curled against him. He looked so small and pale that it made Len angry to look at him.

“No,” he said. “We’ll take him back to the lair for now. I want to know what they were trying to do to him.”

“Amazing he lived,” Mick commented, frowning like he was trying to put his finger on something that was eluding him. “Gettin’ shot by the cold gun like that.”

“Yeah, amazing,” Len said. “They must’ve used the lowest setting.” That was a lie. There was no such setting. If Barry weren’t the Flash, he’d be dead.

“You do know him, right?”

“Hey Lenny, I’ve _definitely_ seen him before,” Lisa said, and Len’s heart nearly stopped. But she went on. “Isn’t he that cutie you picked up last week?”

 _Oh thank you, sis._ “Yeah,” Len grunted. “That’s the one. Must’ve snatched him to get info on me.”

To his relief, Mick seemed satisfied with that. Which was good, because the other Rogues were clearly pondering the mystery as well. Hopefully they’d all buy that this kid was just unlucky - associated with Len at just the wrong time in his life when the lab wanted to steal something from Captain Cold.

They’d averted disaster. They’d go back to the lair, he’d get some answers, and then Barry could be on his way. Kid was tough. He’d be all right.

* * *

Hartley stared at them when they climbed into the back of the van. “H-hey, isn’t that—” 

He broke off when Len snapped, “Yes, he’s that kid I hooked up with last week,” and glared at him so fiercely that apparently he got the message. Hartley nodded and turned back to his laptop, a pensive look on his face.

That answered a question Len had had for a while, actually - it seemed that the Pied Piper knew who the Flash was. Not that it mattered. If he had a grudge against Barry, he could have gone after him a long time ago. All that Len cared about was not letting the likes of Mark Mardon or Kyle Nimbus find out.

Mick handed Barry off to Len, who sat down on the floor with his cold gun digging into his thigh and the unconscious long-limbed speedster in his lap. Barry’s head rested against his shoulder, and Len tried to ignore his nudity and how cold his skin felt. Somehow Len had always expected that the Flash would run hot. Or was it blood loss?

“Drop me off at my place, Mick,” Len yelled as his partner drove. Mick acknowledged the command with a grunt. 

The rest of the Rogues sat around them, most of them chatting, but often casting curious looks at the pair. He pressed his hand to the back of Barry’s hair, turning his face in towards his neck to keep it hidden. He needed to get Barry out of the spotlight before anyone else figured out who he really was, though he probably didn’t need to worry too much about it. Who would think that this slender, pale kid was the Flash, if they hadn’t seen him except in battle? Lisa had probably figured it out because she’d spent so much time at STAR Labs while they worked to try to remove the bomb from her neck.

As they drove, he considered his game plan. The biggest question mark in his mind was STAR Labs. Why hadn’t they staged a rescue? Maybe they were on their way, which would mean that when they realized Len had now kidnapped Barry in turn, their attention would come down on him like a tonne of bricks.

Well, without the Flash, he wasn’t too afraid of what Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, and their various friends and father figures could accomplish. Especially since they didn’t know where to find him.

Barry stirred in his arms. Len felt him open his eyes and immediately begin to shiver as he looked around cautiously. Len tightened his grip on the younger man. “Don’t,” he warned softly. “Don’t try to go anywhere.”

“Where are you taking me?” Barry’s voice was soft, laden heavily with hopelessness.

Len didn’t answer. The obvious response - a ‘safe place’ - didn’t seem believable. Anyway, they were nearly there. 

Barry didn’t try to run, even when the van came to a stop and Lisa opened the doors and hopped out to help Len with the kid. “Can you walk?” Len asked, and Barry nodded.

He removed his parka and wrapped it around Barry’s shoulders. Though Len wasn’t a big man, Barry seemed to drown in it. Len held him tightly by one arm as they climbed out of the van, and Barry dropped down to stand on the pavement, gasping with pain. Lisa searched his expression, then looked a question at Len. 

“Thanks, Lisa. I’ll take it from here,” he said. “Get everyone squared away. I’ll call you later.”

She nodded, and hopped back into the van. “Be careful, Lenny,” she said, and shut the doors. The van pulled away, and Len was left alone outside his apartment building with a very naked young man wearing no shoes, his dignity preserved only by a parka that barely fell to his thighs.

“Come on,” he said, and pulled. Barry walked obediently into the building, head down. 

Len lived - currently - in a four-unit brownstone with no lock on the main door, and no doorman. His was on the second floor and to the right, closest to the fire escape. Barry made it up the stairs under his own power, but was leaning heavily on Len by the time they reached the door. Len led him inside and straight through into his bedroom.

“Lie down,” he said. “I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Brows furrowed, Barry did as he was told, falling into the bed more than lying down on it. He wrapped the parka more securely around himself as he lay on his side on the bed, turning his head so that his face was half-covered by the fur of the hood, and drawing his legs up.

It would’ve been a scene from one of Len’s masturbation fantasies, if he didn’t suspect Barry was getting blood on the inside of his coat.

He went into the adjoining bathroom and grabbed the medical kit, which he kept stocked with more than just bandages and polysporin. 

Barry was starting to worry him. He’d have expected at least one stubborn growl or quip by now, but the kid had barely said a word, and was doing as he was told to a degree that seemed…off. Maybe he was just tired and in pain, but he was still in Captain Cold’s bedroom, and yet he didn’t seem inclined to try to speed away.

Len walked back to Barry and sat down on the bed, and opened the kit. “Stretch out, kid,” he told him. “I’m gonna see what I can do about those cuts.”

Barry hesitated, then shifted onto his back, a muffled sob strangled in his throat as he moved. Kid had to be in some major pain. Len opened the parka, baring his torso once more. The cuts were shallow and precise, some of them a single line, others deeper. On his right pec, just below the nipple, a square section had been flayed, the skin removed and the flesh underneath angry and red. 

The worst injury was on his stomach, of course. The skin was black there, where the ray of the cold gun had hit Barry’s bare skin. However, the ring of frost he’d seen earlier had melted away and it already seemed a bit better than it had before.

Len bandaged the other wounds, but he wasn’t sure what to do about the cold gun injury. Barry lay still, watching Len intently as he gently spread antibiotic gel over each wound and then taped soft white gauze over each wound. He finally pulled out some burn gel and began to spread that over the blackened, cold-burned area. He didn’t know if it’d help, but it couldn’t hurt. Barry hissed with pain, but didn’t complain. 

Finally, he had done what he could. “Sorry, kid,” he said, as Barry wrapped up in the parka and curled up again. Some colour had come back into his cheeks, at least. “I know I’m obsessed with the cold, but I’m no doctor. I don’t think I have the stuff to do anything about the cold burn.”

“It’s fine,” Barry said, eyes closed, voice muffled by the parka. “I’ll heal.”

Len knew that was true, so he let it go. He thought for a few minutes. He had wanted to talk to Barry, find out more, but he wasn’t being terribly forthcoming. “It’s late,” he said. “Think you can sleep?” It could wait until tomorrow, after all.

“Yeah.” Barry lay still for a few moments, and Len thought for a second that he’d fallen asleep already, but then he spoke up softly. “Why did you do this to me, Snart?”

“Do what?” 

Barry cracked an eye open, glaring balefully up at him from the depths of his parka. “Why did you help them hurt me?”

Len froze, shocked by the accusation. “I just _rescued_ you.” He began packing up the medical kit. “That’s gratitude for you.” He closed the kit and headed towards the bathroom. 

“They had your cold gun,” Barry snapped, curling up more tightly. “They said—”

“Whatever they said to you, Barry, they _lied_ ,” Len growled from the doorway. “They set me up. They knocked me out and stole my cold gun yesterday.”

“…Oh.”

Len was silent for a long while, waiting, but it seemed all the fight had gone out of Barry again. “You get it, now?” he asked finally.

He didn’t get any response. Barry’s breathing had already evened out, and he was breathing deeply, fast asleep with his face buried in Len’s parka hood.

Len sighed. He got a blanket out of the closet and laid it over the young man and tucked him in, then went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Barry was still fast asleep - maybe unconscious would be a more accurate term - when Len returned to the bedroom, clad in flannel pyjamas and ready to sleep.

He pondered the bed. It was a queen, big enough for two even if they weren’t that friendly. He wasn’t inclined to go sleep on the sofa if he didn’t have to, so he shrugged and pulled the blankets back, getting into bed. Barry didn’t even stir.


	2. Chapter 2

A soft cry woke Captain Cold. He nearly leaped straight out of bed, his hand grabbing for his cold gun - sitting beside the bed well within reach - as his eyes snapped open and his heart raced. The main reason he _didn’t_ jump to his feet, though, was the weight of an arm flung across him, a hand fisted in his nightshirt.

Barry was cuddled up against his back. The young man shuddered and cried out again, a soft “No, please stop…” that sent Len’s mind careening back thirty years. He had cried those words once.

Not in a long time.

He let go of the handle of his cold gun and carefully turned over in bed. “Barry,” he hissed softly, and touched his shoulder. He shook it, when Barry cried out again. “Barry, wake up!”

Barry jerked and green eyes opened, reflecting the street light that filtered through the blinds. His eyes stared for a moment, unseeing, Barry’s body rigid and trembling with fear. Then he blinked and seemed to _see_ Len again. 

“Snart?” he whispered. His fingers tightened into fists in Len’s shirt. 

“It’s me, kid,” Len murmured, not that that was probably much comfort. Maybe Barry believed him now, that Len hadn’t been behind his kidnapping and torture at the hands of those scientists, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be waking up in the middle of the night to see Captain Cold’s face.

Barry swallowed visibly and nodded, ducking his head. To Len’s surprise, he buried his face in the soft flannel of Len’s shirt, still trembling.

Len hesitated, then rested his hands on Barry’s back, rubbing soothingly. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do, but slowly the tension thrumming through Barry’s body began to relax. Eventually, Barry spoke. “It’s over, right?”

“It’s over, kid. Sorry, I broke our deal just this once. Didn’t think you’d mind in this case.”

“Huh?” Barry lifted his head, blinking warily. 

“The people who hurt you are dead,” Len clarified. “I killed them.”

Barry’s brows furrowed, and he lowered his head again, tucking it against Len’s neck. If it weren’t for how royally fucked up this situation was, Len might have enjoyed that. “Am I a bad person for being happy about that?”

“No,” Len said. “But I’m a bad person, so you might not want to take my word for it.”

“I don’t think you’re really a bad person,” Barry said, very softly. 

Len’s lips quirked. He rubbed Barry’s back a little more. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’re thinking too clearly about it right now.”

Barry lifted his head again. “No, really. You rescued me. You could’ve just dropped me off somewhere, or interrogated me first and then done it. But you’re taking care of me. You don’t get anything out of this.” Len suddenly realized that Barry’s fingers had relaxed, and the kid’s arms were stealing around him. Barry’s face was earnest and stubborn.

And then Barry kissed him. 

The warmth and sweetness of that kiss took Len’s breath away. He closed his eyes and proved most thoroughly that he was _not_ a good person, by returning the kiss and doing nothing to discourage it.

When they came up for air, Barry gave him another of those earnest, hopeful looks, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. Len wondered what was visible on his own face. Len didn’t really know how to feel about what had just happened - he had no idea why Barry had just kissed him, but he knew damn well that wasn’t going to lead anywhere. 

“Was…was that okay?” Barry asked worriedly.

Len searched his repertoire, found what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and showed it to Barry. Kid was just traumatized and confused, reaching out to whoever he could, no matter how bad that person might be for him. “Yeah,” Len murmured. “That was great.” He lifted a hand to the back of Barry’s head and tucked it down against his chest again. “Go to sleep, Barry.”

Barry nodded, and Len felt him relax bonelessly, like somehow all of the tension and fear had finally run out of him like water. Soon, Barry’s breathing evened out as he fell asleep once again.

* * *

Len woke once more as the sun warmed his bedroom, this time to the smell of cooking bacon and perking coffee. Why did he feel cold? He frowned in confusion for a few moments, then jerked his head to the side, expecting to see the bed empty. But Barry was still there, though his eyes were open and he was watching Len thoughtfully. Apparently he had just moved away at some point. 

He was still wearing that damn parka.

“Morning, sunshine,” Len grunted, and pushed himself up. He got up without waiting for a response and walked out of the room.

Mick was in his kitchen.

“Hey, buddy, how’s the kid?”

“He’ll heal, apparently.” Len yawned and looked around, then leaned against the kitchen island, regarding his best friend thoughtfully. “What’re you doing here?”

Mick gestured towards the frying pan. “Cooking.”

“I _know_ , but…”

“Lisa said kid might need to eat,” he said. “Did you feed him last night?”

Len frowned. “Well, no.”

Mick stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth and chewed, still talking. “So he’s gotta eat, right? How long you keeping him?”

“Probably sending him home today.”

Mick grunted approval and dished up the bacon and eggs, putting twice as much on one plate than the other two. He added salt and pepper to all three plates, maybe a bit too much of the latter, and then hot buttered toast. “Coffee’s over there,” he grunted, pointing to the machine. “Did you really fuck him?” he added, peering penetratingly at Len. 

Len hesitated, his lips tingling with the memory of the kiss. Did Mick somehow know Barry had kissed him last night? _How_? “Why do you ask?”

Mick shrugged. “Well, he’s the Flash, so…”

Len winced, oh right, Lisa had told Mick that he had picked Barry up in a bar. And now apparently Mick knew who he really was, which meant he knew that Len was either lying to protect him, or had been having some very interesting sex on the side without cluing his partner in about it. 

Lisa had probably figured it out based on jaw structure. It was obvious she had known he was lying. But Mick? He was usually not nearly as quick on the uptake. “Did Lisa tell you?”

Mick snorted. “Come on. I know that cold gun of yours doesn’t have a setting like that. You shoot it, and it kills. Except the Flash. So he’s the Flash.”

“Why didn’t you say anything yesterday, then?”

His friend looked up, eyes wide. “You don’t want the other Rogues to know. They’d kill him. Right?”

“Right.” Well, so much for keeping Barry’s secret. At least it wasn’t Len’s fault. He’d tried to cover for him.

“So?” Mick asked, picking up the most heavily-laden plate, and heading for the bedroom. “Did you fuck him or not?”

“No, Mick,” Len said, following along with his own plate in hand. “I didn’t fuck him.”

“Thought not.”

Barry was sitting up in bed when they entered, looking wide-eyed at Mick and then back at Len.

“He looks cute in that,” Mick said, gesturing to the parka. Then he offered the plate of food. “You hungry, kid? Food’s up.”

Barry looked uncertain, but reached for the food like he couldn’t stop himself. He forked up eggs and bacon like he was starving, and Len and Mick both sat down on the edge of the bed to eat their own meals. When the plates were empty, Barry looked up, frowning. “Thanks…”

Mick grunted. “Don’t let Snart be an idiot. You want something, you just ask for it. He’s oblivious that way.”

“Hey!” Len glared at his friend. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Did you feed him last night?”

“He was _unconscious_.” Mostly.

Mick shrugged. “Okay, that’s all right, then.” He got up and gathered the plates. “Gonna go. You gonna be okay without me?” He looked between the two of them, and Len wasn’t sure who he was asking.

“I’m fine,” Barry said, looking utterly baffled. Len couldn’t blame him.

“Go on,” Len told him. Mick nodded and stomped out of the room. Len listened to the sounds of dishes being put in the dishwasher, and then the door closed as Mick left.

He turned to Barry. “So, he knows what you look like without the mask, but he doesn’t know what your real name is or where you live. I didn’t tell him, so don’t blame me.”

Barry nodded, picking at a loose thread on the covers. “That’s okay,” he said. “What happens now?”

Len rose to his feet. “Let me check your injuries, see if the bandages need to be changed. How do they feel?” 

Barry stretched out obediently on the bed, and Len peeled back each bandage. To his surprise, most of the cuts were healed. The big one on his chest and the frozen spot on his stomach were far from completely gone, but were markedly improved. Len gave a low whistle. “You sure do heal fast.”

“Yeah,” Barry said, aggressively. “I _know_. You can leave it alone, now.”

Len frowned, stumped by that. He stepped back, and Barry wrapped himself up in the parka, curling up on his side again. “Hey now, I’m trying to be nice, here,” Len said.

Barry cracked open an eye and glared balefully up at Len, who stared at the huddled figure on his bed for a moment. Finally, Barry looked away again. “Sorry. I just…it hurts.”

“I get it.” Len wouldn’t want an enemy poking at his injuries, either. Even if they had made out last night. Probably, part of that grouchiness was because Barry was embarrassed or regretful about what he’d done in the middle of the night. Better to change the subject. “What did they want you for, anyway? Why were they doing this to you?”

Barry chewed on his lower lip, shifting slightly to look at Len. “They…I think they were testing my healing abilities.”

“Shit,” Len swore. Yes, that did make sense. “How long did they have you for?”

Green eyes fell away, and Barry’s brow furrowed. “What day is it?”

Seriously? They’d had Barry for more than a day? “Tuesday.” At Barry’s uncertain expression, he clarified further with a sinking heart. “May twenty-third.”

Barry’s shoulders hunched up. “Then…then they had me for two weeks.”

“Two _weeks_?” Len was floored. “What the _hell_ are Ramon and Snow doing, twiddling their thumbs?”

Barry shrugged unhappily. “I…I don’t know? They grabbed me on my way home from work. I… I guess Cisco and Caitlin don’t know where I am - where I was.”

Len gritted his teeth. He put away the kit and then grabbed his burner phone off the dresser and approached the bed, holding it out. Barry didn’t know where they actually were, so he couldn’t tell anyone where Len lived. “Call them. If you want, I’ll drop you off wherever you want to go.”

Barry hesitated, then took the phone, searching Len’s expression. “You’re really just gonna let me go, after all this?”

 _For fuck’s sake._ “This isn’t a _kidnapping_ , Barry. It’s a _rescue_.” He shrugged. “I came for my cold gun, but I wasn’t gonna leave you there.”

“Then why did you bring me here at all?” Barry asked, brows furrowed. 

Len counted the reasons on his fingers. “One, because I wanted to know why they caught you at all, and why they took my gun. And two, because if I’d just taken you straight to Joe West’s house, or STAR Labs, the other Rogues would’ve known exactly who you were. I was pretending you were a boyfriend of mine, so bringing you back to my place was logical. Understand?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I was trying to help you,” Len said, glaring. “I patched you up and let you sleep here. I fed you. What more do you want?”

Barry was silent for a moment, toying with the phone in his hand without opening it. “I guess I want to rest. I still hurt all over. But if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Len paused, startled. “I wasn’t pushing you out the door,” he said, feeling now like he was playing catch up. “You want to rest a while longer? You can. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Barry looked up at him cautiously. 

Why would he even want to stay? Len wasn’t up to questioning him. He needed at least another cup of coffee before he tried to understand what the hell was going on here. “Really,” he said. “Honestly, you can stay if you want. You can go if you want. You aren’t a prisoner.”

Barry nodded. “Okay…then I’ll stay. A little while.”

“Fantastic. I’ll let you rest.” Len shrugged and headed for the door. 

“Thanks, Snart,” Barry said softly, just before Len closed the door. He paused and listened, and a few moments later, he heard Barry speaking. 

“Hey, Cisco? Yeah…yeah I’m fine. I’m sorry everyone was so worried.” Pause. “I… I’m in Central City. I’m staying with a friend. I just… need a few days, okay? Can you let everyone know I’m all right?” A pause. “Thanks, man. Thanks. I’ll explain everything later, I promise. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

Bemused, Len walked to his kitchen and got himself another cup of coffee. A few days? Barry was planning on sticking around for a few days?

He flopped down on the sofa and turned on the television, keeping the volume nearly off. He turned it to a mindless cooking competition show and watched, sipping his coffee and considering. He turned it all over in his mind, trying to work out why Barry wouldn’t want to go home, and would rather stay here with him. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces, and after a while he gave up.

Well, he’d figure it out eventually. He’d get to the bottom of it.


	3. Chapter 3

No sooner had Len really settled in with his cooking show, than he heard the door to his bedroom open. He craned his neck, watching Barry emerge cautiously, long legs bare and feet sinking into Len’s carpet as he moved. The kid had the parka still wrapped around him, and the hood up, like he was trying to hide, but he moved and poked around the apartment with open curiosity. 

Len said nothing. There was no real trouble Barry could get into in his own apartment. The only thing Len really cared about losing was the cold gun, and he had left that in the bedroom with Barry in the first place. He turned back to the television and watched a bunch of morons running recklessly through a grocery store, supervised by Guy Fieri. One of them collided with a display of paper towels. Len laughed.

“Can I join you?” 

Len glanced up at Barry, who hovered near the sofa. He gestured. “Sure. Pull up a chair.”

The smile that broke across Barry’s face was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. He sat down next to Len and curled up. Len was amazed - he was moving so well, it was almost like he wasn’t in pain at all. The only remaining evidence of the physical injuries was a slight wince as Barry tucked his bare feet under himself.

“I’d offer you some clothes, but… I don’t think any of mine will fit,” Len said thoughtfully. That being said, surely he had an old pair of jogging pants with a drawstring or something. Kid couldn’t just wear his parka all day long, as fetching as he looked in it. “Still, let me see what I can find.” 

He started to rise, but Barry put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean, later, sure. Thank you. It’d be nice to have something to wear.” He smiled sheepishly, and grabbed a throw blanket off the arm of the sofa, tucking it around his hips. “This is fine for now, though. I don’t want you to miss your show.”

Len shrugged and settled back in comfortably. Barry’s hand returned to rest on his forearm, and the kid curled up like a cat, leaning towards Len, his head on the back of the sofa as he watched the television.

Len was hyperaware of Barry’s presence, like the hand on his arm was a live wire, leaving his skin tingling. For some reason, Barry didn’t seem concerned about being nearby - he could have chosen to sit anywhere, but he sat right next to Len, intentionally touching him. Len kept thinking about the kiss, the warmth and sweetness of Barry, and he started to salivate.

At the commercial break, Len cast a look at the younger man out of the corner of his eye. Barry stared at the television, apparently rapt at the story of a bunch of animated bears who were overly excited about their bathroom rituals. 

“How’re you doing, kid?” Len asked softly. 

“I’m fine,” Barry said without taking his eyes off the television.

_Sure you are._

“You ever gonna give me my coat back?” Len teased, crooking an amused grin. 

To his surprise, Barry turned red. “I-I can take it off if you want. I just…” His voice dropped awkwardly. “It smells nice.”

Len’s jaw dropped. For a moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. “That’s fine,” he said eventually, because honestly if Barry wanted to wear his parka the rest of his life, Len would be fine with that. Great with it, actually. That would be hilarious. He could always get another one.

Also, it was pretty sexy.

But the truly stunning part was the fact that in those words Len heard something else. Barry didn’t just like the way he smelled. He found Len’s presence comforting.

Len hesitated, then lifted his arm in invitation. Like Barry had just been waiting for it, he slid under it and tucked himself up close, resting his head on Len’s shoulder and splaying a hand over his chest. He shuddered, and Len rested his hand on Barry’s shoulder, rubbing slowly and gently with his thumb.

The show resumed. The contestants cooked frantically. One of them cut themselves and got blood all over their filet mignon, and there was a lot of dramatic music and shots of the digital clock counting down. The one who cut their finger got sent home at the end of the round and said something inspirational about persevering and finding another way to get their food truck. 

Barry cuddled against him, and Len wondered what the hell he was going to do.

At the next commercial break, Len glanced down at Barry. “So…you told Ramon you’ be gone a few more days,” he said. “What’s up with that?”

Barry tensed slightly. “Uh… you said I could stay as long as I like, so…”

“I wasn’t objecting,” Len said patiently. His fingers moved up, rubbing against the back of Barry’s neck. “I’m _curious_.”

There was a long silence. The television droned on. Finally, just as Len thought maybe Barry just wasn’t going to say anything else, he spoke up softly. His voice shook, rough with tears. “I just… I don’t know, Leonard. I hurt. I hurt _inside_ and out. I just need a break, I guess. The idea of going back out there, right now, I just can’t. I’m sorry— I know everyone needs me, and that I don’t have the right to just abandon—”

“Stop.” At Len’s interjection, Barry froze, tensed up, the torrent of words halting. Len cupped his cheek, and Barry looked up, eyes wide and hurt. “Listen,” Len said more gently. “You know I don’t really get this whole heroing thing - I don’t get why you do it to begin with, so take this with a grain of salt. But as far as I’m concerned, you don’t owe anyone a damn thing, and you have the right to do anything you want.” 

The hurt expression in Barry’s eyes cleared, and a furrow developed between his brows, as Len went on. “You put yourself out there every day to save people. And maybe you feel like you have a responsibility to do it, because you have special powers. But the fact is, if you get killed or you break down, or you lose your mind, you won’t be able to help anyone.” Len shrugged. “So take a couple of days for yourself. Far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned it. If anything, you owe it to everyone to be in good fighting form when you get out there again.”

The furrow smoothed away, leaving Barry looking tired and hopeful. “You really think so?”

“Like I said, I’m probably not the authority you should be listening to on this,” Len said ironically. “But yes, I think so.”

Barry smiled. There was something bittersweet about it. Self-hating, almost, and Len wanted very much to kill the one who’d put so much pain in that smile. Unfortunately, he already had. “Thank you, Leonard,” he murmured. “Uh, is it okay if I call you that? Or Len? I always used to call you Snart, so…”

“Fine,” Len said, bemused. “Are we friends now?”

Barry reddened again. “I hope so. Because, I sort of kissed you last night - and I’m sorry, for that. By the way. I… I guess I went a little overboard.”

The bottom dropped out of Len’s stomach and he looked away, peering at the television. At some point, the show had started up again, and Len had missed the commentary on the dishes. Damn. 

So the kiss had just been, what? Gratitude? The more he thought about what Barry had just said, the more it bothered him. 

“What the hell were you thinking, Barry?” he demanded, removing his hand from the back of Barry’s neck. He placed it it on his shoulder again. “You shouldn’t kiss people unless you _want_ to. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that? I might have gotten the wrong idea, thought you were attracted to me. Hell, I could’ve pushed things further than you wanted to go.”

“Wait!” Barry shifted up. “You _are_ attracted to me? You wanted me to kiss you?”

Len looked at him. He meant his expression to be fierce and forbidding, but the sweet, pleased look on Barry’s face distracted him. “Do I really need to answer that?” he asked, trying to gather the shreds of his cold and badass persona. 

This was careening down a track he hadn’t expected. It didn’t help that he was pretty sure it was going to a place he very much wanted to go.

Which was confirmed by Barry’s next words.

“Do you want to kiss me again?”

“Hell yes,” Len growled.

So they kissed. Len’s fingers crept under Barry’s parka, skimming over his bare ribs and sides and smoothing over his back - cautious not to touch Barry’s remaining injuries, though they were already so much better. Barry gasped and shifted up eagerly, moving to straddle Len’s thighs and slipping his arms around Len’s neck. 

They made out for long minutes, the television completely forgotten. Screw Guy Fieri, anyway. Who cared about him?

The show ended, and started up some kind of carnival-based travel cooking show. Len ignored it. No deep fried mars bar in the world could compare to the taste of Barry’s tongue as he sucked it into his mouth. 

Barry broke the kiss first, but only just. They were both breathing heavily when Barry straightened up to gaze down at Len, looking debauched with swollen lips and a sheepish grin on his face. The parka didn’t cover a damn thing, and his underwear didn’t do much to hide his erection either. 

“You sure about this, kid?” Len murmured.

“Only if you promise to stop calling me ‘kid’,” Barry said, breaking into a grin. 

Len snorted and shifted, dumping Barry onto his back on the sofa. Barry grunted at the movement, his eyes widening, and Len rose up onto his knees and dropped his hands down on either side of Barry’s shoulders, leaning over him. Barry’s legs were still spread wide, forced open by Len’s thighs.

“No deal,” Len said mischievously. “So I guess I’m just gonna have to _steal_ the next kiss.”

Barry’s chest heaved, but there was no fear in his eyes. Maybe a tinge of wariness, but that was just spicing up the eager hunger that flickered there. “Guess you’re gonna have to,” Barry said.

Len bent down.

And the little shit was gone. 

He felt something, like a ghost of hands moving him aside, and then Barry was on the other side of the room, laughing as Len straightened up in confusion. Len lunged off the sofa, knowing it was impossible for him to catch the Flash with his bare hands, and determined to try. 

There followed a few minutes of cat and mouse, where Barry appeared and disappeared, first beside the television, and then perching on the kitchen counter, and then taunting him from the bathroom, then sitting on the sofa. Len stalked him, and grabbed for him when he went by, but it was like grabbing at lightning. Barry slipped through his fingers three, four times.

Then he felt arms close around him, Barry’s lips meeting his in a kiss almost too fast to feel, and his feet left the ground. In a confusing instant, he found himself in the bedroom, landing on his back with a grunt, as all the air left his body. Barry climbed on top of him, grinning like a fool, and straddled Len’s waist, breathless and still laughing.

Len would have been _furious_ , if it wasn’t so good to see Barry smile and laugh.

He grabbed Barry hard around the waist and grinned up at him ferociously. “ _Gotcha_.”

Barry bent down. “Got you first,” he breathed.

And their lips met once again. 

Barry’s stomach was still raw and red around a circle of dark bruised skin the size of a quarter. Len’s fingers skipped over the area and slipped past the bandage on Barry’s chest to rub circles over his nipples, pulling a soft moan of approval from Barry’s lips. 

Barry’s hands ran greedily over Len’s shirt, and then moved down to his waist. Len hissed into Barry’s mouth as the speedster’s fingers slipped under his shirt, and cool fingertips ran over his skin directly. Barry skipped over the skin, marred with scars, without any hesitation, and returned the favour, rubbing Len’s nipples with his thumbs until they stiffened to peaks. 

Len growled softly and broke the kiss, leaning up to nibble at Barry’s throat, the fur on the hood of the parka tickling his nose. Barry shuddered and squirmed, and he put a hand on Barry’s back, holding him close so he could torture him sweetly. “You’re a menace, Barry Allen,” he murmured, breathless with arousal. He couldn’t think of the last time he was this turned on by a bit of heavy petting.

“You’re sweet to say so,” Barry said cheekily. “Can we— Do you mind if we—?” His fingers dropped to Len’s waistband, tugging lightly in question, and Len groaned.

“Are you asking if we can have sex?” he prompted, grinning against the smooth, perfect skin of Barry’s throat.

He almost felt the blush heat up. “Um, yes,” Barry said softly.

“Then, just say so,” Len said, and smiled wickedly in anticipation. “Go on, Barry. Ask me to fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” Barry groaned, and his hips shifted involuntarily, grinding against Len’s erection. “Okay, okay… jerk.” He drew a breath, and shifted down, grinding himself more deliberately, his ass cheeks rubbing hard against Len’s sensitive shaft through the flannel pyjama pants. His lips pressed a kiss to Len’s earlobe, and then he whispered. “ _Please_ , Cold, would you fuck me?”

Len closed his eyes, and had to grind his teeth to suppress a _groan_ as his cock twitched with desire, heat pooling in his stomach. “ _Shit_ , Barry. You should be illegal in all fifty states.”

He wrapped his arms around the younger man and shifted, spilling him off and onto his back. Barry yelped at the move, but twined his arms around Len’s neck as the older man ground his erection against Barry’s ass.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he promised solemnly, tugging Barry’s underwear down and off. “And you’re gonna sing for me.”

“You want me to sing?” Barry asked in a baffled tone, but there was mischief in his green eyes.

Len kissed that smug look off his face, leaving him looking dazed and beaming. Then he took that opportunity to rummage in his bedside table for the tube of lube. 

Barry groped him while he was distracted, slipping a hand into his pants and palming his cock. Len murmured wordless approval at that, jerking his hips forward to deepen the friction, while he slicked his fingers and dropped his hand down, rubbing and stimulating Barry’s entrance with a single digit. 

Barry moaned and arched his back, the hood getting crushed under his neck as he squirmed and twisted, eager for more. Len took that as invitation, and slid a finger inside him.

Len worked his fingers into the younger man, exhorted to hurry up by Barry’s whines and moans and cries. Barry writhed and arched upwards, body squeezing and relaxing around first one, and then two, and finally three fingers. Barry’s prick lay neglected against his stomach, untouched, though Len worshipped the younger man with kisses and nibbles and soft words of encouragement.

Only when he was loose and all but weeping with need did Len relent. He tugged his pants down and off, and then entered Barry slowly, pushing himself in inch by inch into that sweet body. 

Then Barry did something impossible. Len’s cock brushed against his prostate, and the younger man cried out and _blurred_. The vibration went straight into Len, lighting him up inside with pleasure. Len gave a shout of surprised pleasure, throwing his head back and thrusting deep into Barry’s body in one quick movement.

Barry cried out, blurred again, and Len shuddered, struggling for control. “God… _Barry_ ,” he panted.

“Len…” Barry moaned, fingers tightening on Len’s forearms. “Don’t stop.”

Len couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. He curled his fingers around Barry’s cock, and stroked as he began to move. The two moved together and apart in counterpoint. Barry writhed helplessly beneath Len’s weight, urging him on with mounting cries of desire and pleasure. Len was soon pounding into him with all his strength, striking Barry’s prostate with each thrust, driving them both on towards the mutual peak.

Abruptly, Barry stiffened and his back bowed. He gave a yell, fingers clawing at Len’s back, and eyes rolling back in his head as pleasure crashed over him. His body spasmed and squeezed around Len’s cock, and the older man groaned in turn, spilling himself into Barry’s body.

They lay for a long while afterwards, sweat-soaked and curled around one another. Barry tucked himself against Len’s chest and shook, drawing in great gulps of air. After long minutes, his breathing gentled, and he relaxed.

“Can I…stay?” Barry whispered.

Len’s eyes were closed, arms tucked up under the parka to hold Barry against him, his face buried in soft brown hair. “Sure,” he murmured. 

“Can I…come back sometimes, after I go?” 

Len smiled. Oh, there were complications, sure, but they were Barry’s to weather. And it did seem like the kid might need…a refuge, sometimes, from his life. “Any time you like.”

“Good.” Barry sighed and shifted to get comfortable. Soon his breathing evened out into sleep.

Len wasn’t sleepy. He lay against his pillows and gazed affectionately down at his new…something. 

The greatest heist he’d ever pulled, somehow. He’d acquired the Flash.

This one couldn’t be shoved into a warehouse somewhere or fenced. Or even hung on the wall. He would leave when he chose, and come running back into his life whenever he needed him. Len had no idea what label to put on this relationship.

But what he did know was, Len rather wanted to keep him.


End file.
